He's Just a Boy
by heggyy
Summary: Harry is found on the doorstop of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, huddled and abused, unable to remember the summer. How did he get there? What happened? And who has been writing all these letters? Rated T for mentions of abuse.
1. Chapter 1

"Oh shut up!" Molly said jokingly, flicking the top of George's head with a wet tea towel.

George, who was crying with laughter, simply ducked out of the way, years of Quidditch sharpening his reflexes.

"I'm just saying Mum…"

"That these potatoes taste like Kreacher's fingers?" Fred said, hooting with laughter.

'Like Buckbeak's claws?" Sirius suggested.

"Like Lockhart's hair potion?"

Another wave of laughter hit the table. Molly, who was at the butt of the joke, looked slightly put out.

"Okay, calm down. I won't try the recipe again. But if someone cleaned the oven?" She looked sternly at Sirius.

"I'm busy," he retorted through a mouthful of sausage. "Get one of the kids to do it."

Molly turned her gaze fell on Ron and Hermione. "You two are always skipping off after meals."

"Muuuum," Ron moaned. "It'll take us hours. But Fred or George could do it with a quick flick of their wand."

There was a crack and George had apparated to the door.

"We could little bro…"

A second crack saw Fred by his brother.

"…or we could just watch you do it very slowly instead."

"Sit down boys!" Molly said loudly. "You are the least responsible of age wizards I have ever met. How you passed your apparition test will never cease to amaze me!"

"Just got to remember Mum," Fred said, flicking his wand so his plate flew through the air and landed with a crash by the sink. "The three Ds..."

"...Destination, determination and deliberation..." George recited.

"...And then you're all set to go..." Fred grinned.

"No need to tell your Mother that," Arthur said, helping himself to a large scoop of raspberry ice cream. "She was the smartest witch in our year. First person to apparate successfully. Wilkie Twycross didn't shut up about it."

"Oh stop it," Molly giggled, blushing a deep beetroot. "Have some more ice cream Hermione."

The doorbell rang.

"Can you get that Ginny?" Molly said. "And don't wake up that flipping painting!"

Ginny sighed and walked down the gloomy corridor, trying not to trip over the junk that littered the hall. It must be one of the members of the Order. She hoped it was Tonks – she was by far the most fun to have at dinner. She opened the door, letting in a gust of freezing air, and there, scrunched up on the doorstep was Harry Potter.


	2. Chapter 2

Ginny screamed, leaping back, before turning down the corridor and screeching "Mum!"

The maternal side of Molly sensed the panic in Ginny's voice. She was already running down the corridor by the time Sirius and Arthur had jumped out of their seats, hurrying after her.

"Oh God," Molly gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

"Get him inside!" Arthur said loudly, grabbing Harry and picking him up easily, his light frame hardly weighing a stone.

He forced the crowd out of the way. Questions flew about, chaos and sobs clamouring in the air, Molly racing to the fireplace to get a Healer and Ron just standing, staring at his best friend.

Arthur carried Harry carefully up the stairs, followed by a whole entourage of people. Mrs Black was screaming, and Sirius desperately trying to shut her up. The noise was painful, yet Harry hardly stirred.

They placed him in Ginny's room – it was the closest – and lay him on the bed. It was only here they saw the true damage. He was wearing just dirty shorts, and they hung off his matchstick legs, sheets of translucent skin stretched between protruding bones. Dirt and grime gave him a grey, ghostly appearance, and huge bags smudged under his eyes. But these were nothing on the welts, bruises, scars and cuts that decorated his body. Not even one specific area – everywhere. Some had the yellowed marbling of an older bruise, some obviously recent. Molly reached over and spread a blanket over him him, even though he was boiling hot.

"What has he done?" Hermione whispered, echoing the thoughts of everyone in the room.

Harry's eyes opened a little, a deep green against his colourless face. He squinted a bit, and that was when Ron realized what was missing - what was making Harry look so terrifyingly alien. His glasses.

Harry moaned softly, and everyone leaned in.

"Where am I?" he gasped, barely audible, his voice cracked and gravelly.

"You're here at Grimmauld Place, Harry. You're safe now," Molly said quietly. Harry didn't question this, sinking back into the pillows and sighing with exertion.

"Am I dead?" He asked softly. If the situation weren't so awful it would almost be funny.

"No Harry. You're very much alive."

A man pushed through the throngs, tall and slender.

"Right. I'm going to treat him now. I need the rest of you to leave."

There were general excuses and mutterings but the Healer – Gregorus Tathelburn – stood strong. Even Sirius, who complained bitterly, sloped out, shutting the door carefully.

Once alone, Gregorus began getting potions and concoctions out of his heavy leather bag. The boy was badly harmed, and whatever healing process he needed would take longer than just the healing of physical wounds. Gritting his teeth at the abuse Harry had suffered, Gregorus started applying a thick, foul-smelling, pink ointment.

Downstairs, the others were sat gloomily around the table, their meal long forgotten but not cleared up.

"What could possibly have happened to him?" Sirius said quietly, picking at a thread on the tablecloth. "We've been getting letters from him nearly every week. Why did he never say things were so bad?"

There was a silence and then Ginny spoke up. "Because it's Harry."

Everyone looked up at her.

"When has he ever complained once to you about anything? He thinks what he's going through is normal, and that moaning won't help. He spends so long helping other people with their problems that we forget he may have his own."

There was another pause as the party considered this. Each had his or her own example of this – Harry not telling anyone when Umbridge tortured him, Harry sacrificing himself to save Ginny from the Basilisk, Harry giving his money for the joke shop.

"He's just a boy!" Molly sobbed suddenly, the noise echoing in the room. Arthur squeezed her hand gently.

"He's going to be all right."

Sirius stood up, his chair scraping along the flagstones.

"I'm going to find out who did this to him. And then I'm going to punish them." His voice was hard, his jaw set with determination.

"Sit down," Bill said firmly. "You'll help no one if you go and make a big fuss. We need to wait."

And they lapsed back into silence.

Gregorus came down when the clock finally struck midnight and Molly had asked what he could possibly be doing several times.

"Harry is asleep at the moment and is not to be woken. He is fantastically undernourished – I wouldn't be surprised if he hasn't eaten properly since leaving Hogwarts – and he has severe injuries."

Molly nodded quickly. "Of course."

"I have healed some of the...less severe cuts and bruises. But it would be dangerous to heal him entirely by magic. He will have to heal the Muggle way. Slowly, with lots of rest. He seems to have several broken ribs and a fractured wrist. There are several bruises on the head, but I cannot judge the extent of the concussion until he wakes. I will return tomorrow evening after my rounds. Make sure he drinks lots of fluids, but don't try and make him eat anything. I'll leave the Potions he needs to take for tomorrow morning."

Molly nodded again. "We will make sure it is done."

"And we have only thought of the physical harm. To have received this amount of damage and not to reach out may mean there are serious mental issues. When is the last time someone saw him?"

They looked at each other shiftily.

"We haven't spoken properly since the summer holidays began," Hermione said quietly. "He's been pretty much alone."

"No contact?"

"Only through letters," Hermione replied. "We'd get a short one every week or so. Nothing that mentioned this."

Gregorus pursed his lips. "I fear there is more to this than meets the eye. We will discover the truth only when he wakes."

"Would you like something to eat? We have some soup?" Arthur said half-heartedly.

"No, thank you," Gregorus replied. "I need to be getting back." In the flickering shadows he looked far older than his fifty years. He sent them a pitying look. "Harry should get better. I'll see you tomorrow."

They heard the front door slam and then the house was in silence again. But everyone was deep in thought. If Harry should get better, then there was a chance he wouldn't.

"You heard him!" Molly said suddenly, turning to them. "To bed! And absolutely no noise! Ginny you can sleep with Hermione tonight."

No one pointed out that it was Harry who needed the sleep, not them. They were glad to have some instruction, something to do as they tried to sort out the mess. For each was thinking of how they were responsible, how they missed something, how they should have checked Harry was all right. And then their thoughts turned to who did this, and how they should be punished.


	3. Chapter 3

In the early morning, as Molly was telling Sirius sternly off for flushing the toilet too loudly, there was a bloodcurdling scream. They raced to Harry's room. He was sat bolt upright in bed, staring into the distance, his mouth wide open, his face twisted with pain. Arthur wrestled him down, telling him he was safe, but the screaming didn't stop. It wasn't until Fred slapped him hard around the face the Harry blinked and sank down, exhausted.

"How did you know?" Arthur asked his son incredulously.

Fred shrugged. "Did it to George once."

Harry was now awake, and well aware of his surroundings.

"Mr Weasley? Mrs Weasley?"

"We're just here Harry." Molly said kindly, taking his hand and stroking his forehead.

"Where am I?"

"Number 12 Grimmauld Place."

He squinted round the room. Then groaned and fell back onto his pillow.

"It hurts Mum," he said quietly. "Why won't they go away Mum?"

Molly turned the kids, gawping at Harry with fear. "Out!"

There was no protest this time, everyone trooping out, leaving Molly, Arthur and Harry alone.

"Harry you're safe now. You're going to be all right. Someone did something bad to you, but you're away from them now," Molly said softly. "You're going to drink this, you're going to get some new glasses, you're going to eat until you're full and then you'll feel so much better."

She hummed quietly, holding a potion to Harry's lips and tipping it onto his parched tongue.

"Mum?" Harry asked again. "Are you there?"

"Yes Harry." Molly said, taking his hand. "I'm here for you."

When Harry was finally asleep again - drugged up on a Draught for Dreamless Sleep, the adults looked gravely at each other and traipsed downstairs, locking themselves into the kitchen. The house was dark and quiet aside from the quiet murmur of voices.

"Has someone contacted Dumbledore?" Molly said quietly.

"I sent him an urgent letter an hour ago. He's out of the country at the moment. He should be back soon," Arthur replied.

"And the rest of the Order?"

"On the way."

As if by cue, the door slammed and footsteps echoed down the corridor. Remus' pale face appeared at the doorway.

"Is he here? Harry! Where is he?" He shouted frantically.

"He's upstairs," Molly said angrily. "Asleep. So you can stop shouting."

Remus sighed, his body relaxing, running his hand through his hair, his face drawn and exhausted.

"Sorry. How is he?"

"Not good." Arthur pulled up a chair and Remus sank into it. "Gregorus has been and healed most of the bad injuries. But there's going to be a lot of psychological damage."

Remus stood up and slammed his fist into the wall, swearing at the pain.

"Who did this?" There was a rabid look in his eyes.

"We don't know. Please, just sit down," Molly implored. "Nothing rash will help him."

"If it was those Muggles. Those fucking Muggles!" Remus growled.

"We don't know that…" Arthur said.

"Who else then?" Remus near shouted.

"Why would the muggles have bought him here?" Sirius said quietly, speaking for the first time. "They don't know about this place. And he was in no state to get himself here."

There was a pause as they thought about this.

"Which means…" Molly whispered.

"Somebody's already had him." Arthur finished.

The kitchen was silent as they tried not to imagine what Harry had been through.

Despite the house slowly filling up with people, it was ghostly quiet. Molly ruled the house under a reign of silence, a nasty cuff over the head for anyone who dared make noise. Mealtimes were conducted in silence, and otherwise the occupants of Number 12 Grimmauld place sloped around quietly, reading or whispering. Tonks came in the early evening, followed closely by Moody and then Shacklebolt. Bill came down from London with Fleur and even Hagrid managed to squeeze himself through the narrow door to deliver some rock cakes for Harry.

Not that any of them actually got to see him. Molly followed Gregorus to the word, making sure there was no noise in the house. It was an unnecessary precaution - Harry didn't stir, and no one really felt in the mood for a party anyway.

Gregorus returned nearing eleven at night.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, bowing slightly to Molly and Remus, who had offered to stay up with Harry first. "It was frantic."

"It's fine," Molly replied. "He's been asleep all day. He woke up screaming earlier, but hasn't since. But he's very confused. He thought I was his mother-" her voice choked, and she wiped away a tear.

Gregorus nodded, his face grave. "As I feared."

Without explanation he strode upstairs, returning half an hour later.

"He is healing," he explained. "But still has a long way to go. There are several more potions he needs to take. I've written them down," he handed Molly a thick wodge of parchment, neat instructions printed in black ink, "contact me if you need anything."


End file.
